


Flight of Fancy

by TrashKing (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, BDSM Scene, Exhibitionism, Flogging, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Spanking, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/TrashKing
Summary: Roy Mustang rarely allows himself an opportunity to let go. He’s fully aware that without some restrictions he could kill someone. In Ishval he slaughtered hundreds and that was horrific enough for one lifetime but that power rush… In his early twenties what Roy chased above all else was a safe, legal, way to taste that same feeling again. The answer? Incredibly kinky sex. Usually with an audience.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 20
Kudos: 217





	Flight of Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Go easy on me here fam, loved this fandom for a long time but first time posting here so a little nervous.

Roy Mustang rarely allows himself an opportunity to let go. He’s fully aware that without some restrictions he could kill someone. In Ishval he slaughtered hundreds and that was horrific enough for one lifetime but that power rush… In his early twenties what Roy chased above all else was a safe, legal, way to taste that same feeling again. The answer? Incredibly kinky sex. Usually with an audience.

He’s scooped out every alternative sex club in Central. He attends sessions at a very expensive venue with stringent secrecy mechanism. Last thing he needs is it getting out that he likes to whip ladies into writhing heaps. They already think he’s some spiked codpiece wearing sociopath down south he doesn’t need to confirm the legends with his sadistic sexual tendencies. The club itself is lavish and beautiful. There’s liquor, jacuzzies, play rooms, toys… literally everything the professional dominant could want. The problem, quite frankly, is the piss poor quality of the subs. They’re rich kids, most of them. They have to be to afford membership. They want someone to rough them up a little, more playfully than anything, while wearing tight leather and then call it a night with some quite vanilla sex.

Now the older crowd, the real fucking sociopaths, they like Roy. They like watching Roy. They in particular like watching Roy put cocky little subs into a whirling headspace faster than a plank to the back of the skull. Roy, frankly, quite likes them too. He associates with some of them by the light of day; military officers, politicians, rich and powerful men and ladies… They’re respectable from nine till five and fucking filthy at all hours of the night. Just Roy’s kind of people.

Tonight his admirers are watching him work over a brunette little miss who insisted she wanted it rough. He’s got her up against the cross, riding crop in one hand, and she’s crying so desperately she seems to have forgotten she has a safe word. He eases off her at that point. He’s not going to actually assault some young lady. So he pats her hair, talks her down from her frenzy, and starts to whisper.

“Enough for now?”

She nods, whimpering.

“Let’s get you down.”

Roy doesn’t begrudge her. He wishes people had a better sense of their own limits but curiosity and bravado are powerful forces. Most people don’t know how hard this stuff can get until Roy shows them. She’s a beautiful young woman, probably very intelligent, but she doesn’t want this. Not really. She needs something kinky, sure, but more suited to her proclivities. She needs a proper partner. So does Roy, really, but he’s finding it hard to find someone who likes to go as far as he does. Most subs spontaneously combust before he’s done with them.

Working her down off the cross he plops her down in-between two of his lady admirers. They snuggle her up, patting her, covering her in kisses… she needs it. After care is essential, Roy knows, but he’s still too far in his headspace to safely give it to her. He’s not done.

“You need another volunteer, Mustang.” Vickers tuts from the couch. “But after that I think you’ve scared every sub for twelve blocks.”

“Don’t speak too soon.”

It’s like a bad old movie. Their focus jerks. The gorgeous blonde leaning in the archway to their playroom slouches, a smirk playing across his eyes and his lips. Roy takes him in. He’s beautiful, no denying that, but he’s young and Roy’s dealt with enough cocky subs in his time. However as the blonde pushes off the archway and saunters up the two stairs to Roy’s slightly inclined platform the older man notices something that catches his true interest. An automail arm. Automail is notoriously painful to attach and it takes years of physical therapy to learn to move with it. This tells Roy two things; the young man is familiar with pain and intimately aware of the limitations of his body.

 _Perfect_.

“Can I play?” The blonde trills, close enough to Roy to touch, looking him right in the eye.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Roy invites with a purr. “Safe word?”

“Mercy.”

“Noted. Here,” Roy offers his hand. The blonde takes it, letting Roy pull him even closer, and toying with the hem of the young man’s shirt Roy tugs it over his head. Roy tosses the offending article of clothing to an onlooker and unbuckling the blonde’s pants tugs the zipper down but leaves the leather on his hips. “Now then, ground rules; once I get you up on that cross you’re mine until you back down or I say we’re finished. If you have a hard limit speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Noted,” the blonde grins, unbothered by the way Roy’s hand is lingering on his hip thumb against the skin. He doesn’t offer any additional limits which frankly Roy thinks is a mistake. Everyone has limits. A sub should always take the chance to establish the boundaries. Roy’s going to find those limits and he’s going to push on them whether the blonde likes it or not. Without giving them both fair warning on the dark zones the blonde makes things more dangerous for them.

Still, Roy’s hyped on adrenaline and aching to sink his teeth into something with taste.

“Well then,” Roy snorts, directing the blonde to the Saint Andrew’s cross and locking his wrists in place out and over his head with the young man facing away from him. His legs he leaves unfastened. “You’re going to want to steady yourself. Feet hip width apart.” He instructs in a whisper, running his hands down the blonde’s arms. He feels the smooth skin under one palm, the slick steel under the other, and the contrast is as beautiful as the boy pressed against him. The blonde gives a little shiver, getting himself ready, and kissing the junction where shoulder becomes automail port Roy gets one little taste of him before diving back into his headspace.

Roy appraises his options. Settles for the cat of nine-tails. It can bite but it’s hardly the harshest thing in his arsenal. Still the back is a delicate mass of intricately connected muscles and the blonde’s hardly in the right position for Roy to devote much attention to his ass.

Roy doesn’t bother to learn his name. Not yet. Maybe if he can last out Roy will ask but if he falls apart, well…

“I’m going to hit you.” Roy drawls. “I’m going to ask you to give me a colour. Green is acceptable, yellow is nearing your limit, red is too much. Understood?”

“Understood.” The blonde breathes.

“Good boy,” Roy praises shortly, smirk upturning.

His first lash startles the blonde. It’s obviously harder than expected. The blonde yelps but the sound trembles, tumbling, into a subtle, contained, purr. Roy chuckles. That’s a good sign. He strikes again, same depth of pressure, and watches the tails snap against honeyed skin.

“Colour?”

“Green.” The blonde sighs smugly.

He shouldn’t get too comfortable. This is about to get a whole lot worse. Roy’s only truly satisfied when he’s inflicting pain. When he’s inducing sheer humiliation. When he’s breaking someone down to base components and making them cry. He doesn’t expect most people to like that sort of treatment.

Another strike. Harder.

There’s a gasp. Roy knows he’s got good technique. He can get a lot of bite out of the implement, more than most folks are used too with this particular toy, and it can become very like a whipping if you know what you’re doing.

“Colour?”

“Green,” the blonde promises.

Roy almost falters but starts to establish a rhythm. He doesn’t ask the young man to count, not yet, just takes in the sounds of him and the way he squirms against the repeated abuse. Roy varies the depth of his strikes and really putting his back into it hits _hard_.

The sound the blonde makes surprises him. It’s the first tangible moan Roy’s managed to draw out of him. Roy hadn’t noticed but when the blonde throws his head back and drags the sound out of his mouth it becomes obvious this is the first Roy’s hearing that gorgeous rumble of noise.

“Colour?”

“ _Green_ ,” the young man moans. “Harder?”

“I’ll break skin.” Roy warns. His cock stirring in his pants.

“ _Go for it_.”

Roy can feel his audience growing quiet with tension. This doesn’t normally happen. Roy’s usually got them crying by now. He’s… pushing through the feelings tangling in his gut- _confusion, excitement_ \- Roy crosses the divide and pressing his stomach against the boy’s red back runs his hands between the wood of the cross and the blonde’s chest. There’s a little noise, a tightly constrained keen, but the sound becomes richer as Roy’s hand slips into his pants and gropes wetly at his confined cock.

The blonde’s hard.

Roy’s gut backflips.

 _He’s enjoying this_.

Roy laughs, squeezing him in downward stroke hard enough to draw another keen out; “slut… little slut…”

“ _Harder._ ” The blonde orders in a rasp.

“You’re asking for it.”

“And you’re stalling.” The lithe minx bites back.

“ _Brat._ ” Roy grunts tugging his head back by the loose, glorious, braid. He presses a kiss to the junction of the boy’s jaw, free hand sliding up his cock, and beginning to peel back picks the cat of nine-tails up once again.

Roy takes a deep breath and snapping the implement bites into already pinking skin with as much force as he can muster with this particular toy. The blonde yelps, stiffening in the restraints, and Roy worries, actually worries, he’s pushed his luck too far but throwing his head back as the initial pain wares away the young man throws his head back and moans.

“ _Again_ …” The plea is sloppy and soft but that’s not to say it lacks force. Roy certainly feels the full force of it on his cock.

Roy hits him six more times. Skin breaks from the lashes, little beads of blood starting to dribble down the taunt muscle… Roy knows his breathing has gotten harder. Swallowing he watches every little twist and flinch from the body under his ministrations. The blonde’s moaning brokenly now face turned into his automail arm.

“Colour?”

“Yellow.”

Roy’s going fucking insane.

His admirers are speechless, watching rapt and unmoving on the couches, and ignoring them entirely Roy throws down the toy and approaches the cross. His hands fumble shakily with the blonde’s restraints and whining loudly the blonde twists back towards him in something like panic.

“You’re not--? _Don’t_ \--!”

“Not done with you,” Roy growl a promise, “not even close. Come here.”

The blonde almost tumbles, legs trembling, and grabbing him by his scruff, hand in his braid, Roy directs him back down off the podium. His eyes must be burning because the admirers in the armchair scatter like mice out of his way and slumping into the seat Roy directs the blonde over his lap roughly.

Roy’s heart is pounding. He knows he needs to calm down but he yanks the blonde’s pants and boxers down just as roughly and cracks his hand hard against the yet untouched curve of the perfect ass. The blonde yelps, arching in his lap, but head falling forward gives a broken little noise of pleasure. Roy can feel his aching arousal against his own thigh and he is mesmerised.

Roy spanks him hard on both cheeks but begins to narrow his attention to a specific region which gets redder and more sensitive with every strike.

“Lube.” Roy barks an order and his attending admirers fumble in a panic to get him a bottle. Dragging his nails over the sensitive flesh Roy waits, barely contained, until he’s presented with the lubricant.

Smearing the slick over his hand and between the boy’s cheeks Roy takes another deep breath.

“Colour?”

“Yellow,” comes the neediest little noise Roy’s ever heard.

Roy rubs against the tense ring of muscle, easing his finger inside. The blonde moans, face buried in the opposing arm of the chair for support. Roy draws his finger out and languidly pushes back in all the way to his knuckle. The blonde pushes back into his hand, cock rubbing against his thigh, and giving another deep thrust with his hand Roy orders; “move your hips, slut.”

The blonde doesn’t need to be told twice. His hips undulate, rolling, rubbing into Roy’s thighs and back into the press of his fingers. The moans come low and consistent now a stream of half foul babble intermingled with prayer.

Roy withdraws his wet hand to gives the blonde another seven crisp strikes to his ass. Feeling the hips move under him unhesitatingly. When the blonde’s ass is red and burning again Roy sinks two fingers into his needy body and curls. The blonde stutters;

“Ah— _O-oh fuck!_ ”

Roy is on fire. The body in his lap is bleeding and bruised and wet and utterly _wanton_. Roy thrusts into him with a steady, jerking, rhythm of slow exit and sharp inward motion. There’s a shaking inhale, another foul lipped prayer, and Roy can barely take it when he starts to talk.

“You going to cum for me?”

“Am I _ah_ -allowed?” The blonde manages.

“Absolutely.” Roy purrs. “I want you to cum for me. Show me you like this.”

“H-hit me again.” The young man begs.

Roy can’t deny him a thing right now. Six hard cracks against that steadily blossoming bruise on his ass and then Roy’s sinking three fingers into him. It’s almost too much. He can feel the little body straining but he doesn’t dare alter his pace.

“ _Ah-_ _ah_ —”

“Want to hear you scream.” Roy growls. “Want to feel you clench and spasm around me.”

“Nggh— _Aaah!_ ”

The blonde breaks spectacularly; fingers coiling razor tight in the edge of the chair, hair thrown back, lips moving uselessly around the sounds, hole spasming around Roy, cock twitching against him…

When the blonde becomes limp, surrendering, his fingers ease visibly and his head slumps forward. His legs are jelly and Roy… Roy is throbbing but oh so innately satisfied. He pants with the blonde, hand sliding down the line of the lithe spine over the blood trails to grasp the back of his neck and rub his thumb into the skin. He’s rewarded with a weak purr.

“Come here,” Roy shifts him gently. Utterly enamoured in that moment. Pulling the blonde to sit in his lap, Roy settles him into his chest, and shoves his tangled pants the last of the way off his honeyed legs. Well… one honeyed leg, one automail leg. Roy is fascinated by the contrast between skin and steel. How did someone this young end up with two prosthetics? Roy’s having a hard time imagining the accident that would see two automail limbs on opposite sides of the body. Whatever. Never mind. The blonde is impossibly beautiful to him now, can do no wrong….

The blonde’s breathing evens out against his clavicle and holding him steadily Roy takes to toying with his hair. He hardly ever gets to enjoy the after care portion of the proceedings with a blissed out partner. It’s a very foreign experience but Roy can understand why so many dominants like it. He feels proud, amazed, adoring… He feels _satisfied_.

A quick glance tells him his admirers are fucking mystified but have not fled. At Roy’s command Vicker’s tosses him the blonde’s shirt which Roy ads to a pile with his pants at the foot of the chair. One of his admirers moans audibly across the room, breaking the tension, and what ensues is the beginnings of what’s about to become an orgy of kinksters. Roy doesn’t care. He’s not interested. He’s got a fucking Christmas miracle in his lap.

“Hmm…” the blonde manages eventually. Roy is locked onto him above the sounds of the quickly escalating frenzy of activity around them. “That was…”

“Name?” Roy runs his fingers up and down the length of the young man’s shoulder.

“Edward, Ed.” He whispers.

“Hi Edward,” Roy murmurs into his hair. “Roy, Roy Mustang.”

“Hmmm….” Another dazed little purr. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to need your number.” Roy explains. “I’m going to need your _everything._ ”

“You can start with my number.” Edward permits into his neck, preening under Roy’s hands.


End file.
